The Charm of Shentang Bay
The Charm of Shentang Bay By Zhu Xinhua I didn't know what kind of cliff was beneath my feet. Before I could steady myself, a chilling wind, fierce as a lion or tiger, rushed violently at me, making me shiver even on a scorching day. Majestic stone peaks stood above the forest that was so green it looked blue in the canyon, like crayons, like stalagmites, like glaring divine soldiers, like seductive young women, like shy village girls… In the distance, stone peaks in great swaths, too many to count…
The Charm of Shentang Bay
By Zhu Xinhua
I didn't know what kind of cliff was beneath my feet. Before I could steady myself, a chilling wind, fierce as a lion or tiger, rushed violently at me, making me shiver even on a scorching day. Majestic stone peaks stood above the forest that was so green it looked blue in the canyon, like crayons, like stalagmites, like glaring divine soldiers, like seductive young women, like shy village girls…… In the distance, stone peaks in great swaths, too many to count, rose endlessly where my gaze blurred. Sunlight turned into white powder drifting through the canyon.
This is Shentang Bay of Tianzi Mountain.
Those who have never seen nature's uncanny workmanship, please come to Shentang Bay. Every stone peak here looks as if it had just been hacked a few times with an axe and then tossed there. Every inch of them bears the marks of the axe. On the stone peaks, here a crack runs horizontally, there a fissure splits vertically; some cracks wind crookedly from the summit all the way down to the dark blue depths of the abyss; some slide down from the top, slanting to the edge of the peak; some cracks are like the lines on a palm, yet a cave opening suddenly appears in the middle; some cracks are strangely long, others oddly short, crisscrossing in perfect disorder. The thunder, rain, and lightning of nature have split rocks into shapes like people, like animals, like all living beings. There is a grayish-white stone peak, like a gaunt old man, and in the ring of cracks below the summit grows a half-circle of thatch grass—who wouldn't say that is the old man's beard? The momentum of Shentang Bay is majestic; look a few more times into the canyon and your body feels light, your heart keeps “thumping” downward, giving a sense of vast desolation. Legend has it that in the late Yuan and early Ming dynasties, a Tujia youth named Xiang Dakun led an uprising at Yuanjiajie against the oppression of the government, proclaiming himself the Son of Heaven. He fought ninety-nine battles against the government and won them all; in the last battle he was defeated, and the Xiang King Son of Heaven rode his horse off the sheer cliff where I now stand, plunging into the abyss. He and his generals all transformed into the stone peaks in Shentang Bay. Thus the stone peak on Tianzi Mountain called Fairy Scattering Flowers also took on a layer of myth. That basket of fresh flowers was offered to the Xiang King Son of Heaven; it is said that when the Xiang King met his end, the fairy turned into a stone mountain, holding flowers in her hands, forever wearing an urgent look of rushing about.
Among the countless stone peaks in Shentang Bay, which one does not look as if it is rushing about at every moment? Nature's uncanny workmanship has already given each stone peak life through its shape, a life that has lasted billions of years; the vast and tragic experience of the Xiang King Son of Heaven has given each stone peak spirit through its meaning, each with its own story. Look more closely at the pine trees growing vigorously on the summits and in the cracks of each stone peak, and you can almost talk with them, speak to them, pour out your sorrows, your joys, all the hardships and difficulties you have encountered in this world.
The pine trees on the stone peaks of Shentang Bay are endlessly varied. Some stone peaks rise slenderly like a peacock's neck, and on the summit there is only one umbrella-shaped pine tree gripping the rock with its roots, growing all alone, exactly like the crest on a peacock's head; the tenacious vitality of the pine tree makes you marvel. Some pine trees grow out of cracks in the sheer cliffs of stone peaks; the trunk is only as thick as an arm, half a person's height, yet it grows in twists and turns—who knows how many storms and thunderstorms they have withstood. On the mid-slope of one stone peak, a slab of rock is as flat as a book. Right on that very flat rock, a pine tree grows vigorously. Its crown is umbrella-shaped, and the momentum of its branches is like a roaring waterfall. Yellowed pine needles fall on another flat rock, spreading into a mat of pine needles. For whom was this mat spread? For children? For heroes? Or for lovers?
Rain began to fall in big drops. Is it because Tianzi Mountain is too close to the sky, or is the rain of Shentang Bay different? When that rain falls, it is as if a group of fairies in heaven had all at once pulled apart countless strings of pearl necklaces. Before long, I heard thousands of troops shouting and battling, sweeping in from all directions.
The rain stopped, and mist rolled in thick and heavy. After a while, the mist dripped, and the rain came again; the rain, like a cotton-fluffing bow, tore the mist into pieces, into threads, into clumps. Looking up, a million mighty soldiers poured forth in formation from the mist; the lower halves of those stone peaks were all wrapped in cloud and mist, swaggering down from the sky. I closed my eyes, truly trembling with fear. When I opened my eyes again, they were retreating in groups. The mist was slow and thick, the mountain colors faint, and the golden smile of the stone peaks in the sunlight was gone. At this moment only the outline curves on the peaks were visible. In the blink of an eye, the mist thinned again, and the stone peaks seemed to leap out of the mist; the wet pine trees changed from black to light ink, to deep blue, then to dark green, and finally told you with emerald green: the mist has dispersed. The rain and mist of Tianzi Mountain bring youth, shyness, dreams, and myriad graceful changes to the strange peaks and rocks of Shentang Bay and to the pine trees on the sheer cliffs. Listen carefully, and in the canyon of Shentang Bay there is sometimes the roar of tigers and dragons, sometimes the tinkling of a guzheng, but you do not know where the sound comes from.
Oh, Shentang Bay, I look at you again and again, savoring your elegance, and for a long, long time, I cannot help but be enchanted!