Dazzling Points of Light
Dazzling Points of Light Ding Mang Viewing the West Sea from Moon Cliff Tianzi Mountain gave me height. When I looked up from Suoxiyu, those clouds and mists floating over the peaks and valleys now seemed to have settled down, trailing in wisps and tendrils around the mountains' waists and necks; some seemed within reach, while others already crouched beneath my feet. The wind flickered and shimmered, the green was so dense it had turned blue, and a scent of grass drifted in the air. I felt as if I were carrying the entire mountain on my back as I climbed, so heavy, so immense,…
Dazzling Points of Light
Ding Mang
Viewing the West Sea from Moon Cliff
Tianzi Mountain gave me height. When I looked up from Suoxiyu, those clouds and mists floating over the peaks and valleys now seemed to have settled down, trailing in wisps and tendrils around the mountains' waists and necks; some seemed within reach, while others already crouched beneath my feet. The wind flickered and shimmered, the green was so dense it had turned blue, and a scent of grass drifted in the air. I felt as if I were carrying the entire mountain on my back as I climbed, so heavy, so immense, that I almost forgot to look at the scenery.
Suddenly, I realized I had reached the edge of a perilous cliff. I jerked my head up. Those peaks shrouded in blue mist had all vanished. Before my eyes now stretched a rolling expanse of verdant ridges, near and far, like the waves of a great sea. Someone said we had climbed seven hundred meters, and this place was already at an elevation of 1,100 meters.
This is Moon Cliff.
Moon Cliff is a pontoon moored by the West Sea, or rather a terrace set before Tianzi Mountain, overlooking Suoxiyu, with ten thousand peaks arrayed before it and misty vapors surging beneath its knees; the Ten-Mile Gallery has become a ten-mile sea of smoke. The peaks and rocks take a thousand forms, each poking its head above the clouds, poised between sinking and floating. The peak pillars are all sheer cliffs; looking closely at those cliff pines, so lush and dark, they seem about to spread wings and fly. Not far away, the Shen Tang Bay is a vast blur; it is said no one has ever dared descend to explore it—so deep and mysterious it inspires awe and also sparks wild imaginings.
From Moon Cliff, the most spectacular sight is still the cliff wall stretching about 80 li from Yuanjiajie to Zhangjiajie. It is as if the earth suddenly split apart here—no, more precisely, as if an extraordinarily sharp long blade had sliced this plateau clean through, cutting it so neatly, so long and so deep. On the high platform are rolling hills, with no great trees, green grass like a carpet where one could gallop a horse, and yet a step beyond lies a chasm of ten thousand fathoms. This very line forms the boundary between two counties: the high platform belongs to Sangzhi County, while below is Cili County. The 80-li cliff wall, like a long, towering rampart, glints in the sunlight, golden and resplendent, standing in the Xiangxi mountains, splitting this region's majestic peaks into two perspectives: looking up from the deep valley of Suoxiyu and looking down from Tianzi Mountain.
The Iron City Wall of Yandang Mountain remains in my memory for its imposing air, heavy as iron and dense as a fortress; the Great Hidden Screen of Wuyi Mountain amazed me endlessly with its lofty, sheer, smooth, screen-like form. Yet when I saw the cliff here, all my memories were struck dumb. How could the Iron City Wall compare to its grandeur? How could the Great Hidden Screen compare to its richness? And its vastness, its deep elegance, far surpass anything those two could offer.
I sat on Moon Cliff, facing this golden, gleaming cliff wall, my thoughts racing. Nature is indeed a master craftsman, sculpting the earth's rivers and mountains, peaks and caves, gorges and valleys, each with its own character and grace: Huangshan is wondrous and elegant, Guilin is charming, Mount Tai is majestic, the Three Gorges are turbulent... And when it came to carving the Xiangxi region, I imagine its inspiration was especially strong, so it worked with abandon, wielding its axe like the wind, splitting open Tianzi Mountain, scooping out Suoxiyu, carving these thousands of peak pillars, and shaping the eighty-li cliff wall. "On the high plain, horses gallop, stirring green wind; in the narrow gorge, thunder rolls, dyed red with mist"—such magnificent, unrestrained spirit could only be expressed by a great master. And nature uses this beauty, full of power and charm, to texture the mountains in people's hearts. Every visitor here will keenly grasp the profound meaning of creation, enriching their paintings, refining their poetry, and shaping their blueprints.
Bright Rain on Tianzi Mountain
The reception station on Tianzi Mountain perches high above the great cliff of Suoxiyu, facing the Imperial Brush Peak. Standing before these simple wooden houses, one can look down from the other side over the entire West Sea; the mysterious Shen Tang Bay hides in the deep mist to the south, emitting a somber, pale blue glow. If you look straight across this vast deep valley, the high plain on the opposite bank seems to lie on the horizon just a few hundred meters away, with the forest farm's buildings clearly visible.
On a clear day, the sun shines on these high mountains and deep valleys, casting a halo around each peak pillar. Everyone was lamenting that the wondrous sea of clouds was not to be expected, feeling somewhat disappointed, when suddenly someone shouted: "Rain clouds!" Indeed, a dark, brooding cloud appeared in the southern sky. Though outlined in gold by the sun, it was full of life and moving swiftly. A Tujia elder said: "If it rains heavily tonight, we'll see the sea of clouds tomorrow morning." So I truly hoped this cloud would have the magical power of the Waiting-for-Husband Cloud on Cangshan in Dali. This hopeful feeling sustained me in my stubborn wait.
Sure enough, the cloud soon faded in color and seemed to trail a skirt, with a flash of slanting light threads visible. Clearly, the rain had started too early. Oh, rain has feet—against the slanting sunlight, we saw the rain striding over the peaks, the wind lifting her long skirt, coming closer and closer, until gradually we heard its soughing whistle.
"The mountain rain is coming, and the wind fills the tower"—but not here. The sun still shone, the view vast, mountain light surging, and we never knew the rain was approaching. At last, the rain came leisurely, not fierce, without great fanfare, but earnest. Each rain thread was gilded silver by the sunlight, presented one by one before our eyes, as if we could reach out a bamboo chopstick and lift a great skein of vermicelli. The clouds in the sky were equally unpretentious, not massing in formation, not stirring up wind and waves, but drifting and sprinkling wherever the mood took them, like a refined gentleman riding the wind, lingering briefly before Tianzi Mountain to express his lofty spirits. The majestic, expansive landscape and the gentle, crisp rain—such harmonious unity completely exceeded my imagination, yet greatly satisfied my craving.
Then suddenly a cry: "A rainbow!" Following the pointing fingers, in the southeast, indeed a rainbow arched high, brilliantly colored, though its span was not large—a broken rainbow. Where had the other half fallen? Perhaps it must be sought in the vast sea of rain. Those peak pillars rising from the deep valley and gazing around seemed draped in rosy clouds—was that the bright rain dyeing them? Or was it the half-broken rainbow crowning them?
Perhaps to reward our earnest hopes, Tianzi Mountain today was truly inspired, and before waiting for tomorrow morning, it treated us right then to the spectacle of clouds emerging. Soon after the rain stopped, several puffs of white cloud rose from the deep valley of Suoxiyu. Having come to the Xiangxi mountains, I was used to clouds and mist, but I had never seen how clouds are born from mountain caves. I had thought they gradually gathered and twisted from silken threads—no, they emerged as large clumps of cloud wadding. I had thought they were as thin as smoke, then gradually thickened—no, they came out already dense and heavy. Throughout the rain, the sunlight had never gone out. It was this sunlight that made the newborn clouds shine as white as snow, yet lighter than cotton, rising slowly upward. First fast, then slow, their posture relatively stable, changing imperceptibly. As if the clouds had long lurked deep in the rain sea, and now a mountain rain had knocked on their door, so they slowly stood up from the deep valley, like giants, turning their snow-bright eyes to look back at the fresh world after the rain. Before Tianzi Mountain, then, were added white, moving peaks, richer in imagination, with a fuller language.
With a single bright rain, Tianzi Mountain, though it did not spread a sea of clouds, watered how much poetry!
Purple Grass Pool
I deeply love the color purple. Purple has a rich inner character: it is passionate yet not showy, deep yet not gloomy; it is young, without shallow self-display; it is calm, yet not despairingly indifferent. In the height of summer in the Xiangxi mountains, green has submerged everything. Along the way, we saw few other colors—only occasionally the cross-shaped white flowers and leaves of madder, the pale red tassels of silvergrass, and purple even less. Most morning glories were white; whenever I found a purple one, I would linger, reluctant to leave. Unexpectedly, at Purple Grass Pool, I actually saw—no, felt—such abundant purple.
The water of Golden Whip Stream resounds like its name, as if a giant dragon were shaking its golden scales. Following the sound of the spring, we walked toward the deep seclusion and arrived at Purple Grass Pool.
It is really a somber stream valley, with cliffs hanging above and spring water surging below, and in between an open space filled with a cold, jade-green atmosphere. Large round stones, washed by spring water for a thousand years, lie like stilled waves, rolling and spreading over the ground. Sitting on a stone by the spring to rest, I felt green mist in the air brushing my clothes, refreshing my heart, and at once I forgot the summer heat, thirst, and fatigue, and a wonderful reverie quietly arose. Looking around, I saw the crowding red cliffs, dampened by this flying green mist, faintly revealing a purple tinge, like a hazy light fog, a misty cicada-wing gauze, seeming both present and absent, now visible, now hidden. It seemed one could discern its traces, but on close scrutiny it vanished without a trace, just floating and flickering, impossible to say whether before the eyes or in the heart.
The stream water seems to spurt from the foot of the cliff. Meeting a large rock blocking its path, it roars and surges up, shattering into bits of glass. Then it immediately merges again, swiftly flowing over the smooth stone surface. After being pounded and kneaded over a fifty- or sixty-meter stretch of rocky riverbed, the stream becomes exceptionally pure and gentle, pooling in Purple Grass Pool, so quiet it seems almost shy. The so-called Purple Grass Pool is only a little over a person's height deep, an irregular oval, no more than twenty meters around, with a stone slab bridge spanning it. Standing by the pool or on the bridge and looking down, the stones at the bottom are clearly visible, even their patterns. That day was overcast, without sunlight, yet I faintly saw the flow of light and shadow in the water—that was the undercurrent. The water of Golden Whip Stream was quietly passing through the pool, evidently awed by this solemn tranquility, changing its rashness. Only the stones at the bottom of the pool faintly bore the traces of the undercurrent upon themselves. In this rippling light and shadow, I vaguely discovered purple. Not the stirring of wind, not the seepage of mist—this was the mist suspended by the pool water itself and the wind swimming gently. Where did this faint purple come from? We all searched for purple grass at the bottom of the pool. There was none, no grass at all. Finally, I found two plants in a crevice by the pool. They were purely green aquatic plants, their leaves drifting with the current, dreamily swaying. What a tranquil dream, dyed purple! The slender stone loaches, like a few streaks of purple light released from the dream, vanished leisurely.