Jiangxi Window to Ages

At dusk, I sat on a stone bench, admiring the peaks bathed in the last golden rays of sunlight. The silhouettes of pines were clear-cut in the gathering darkness. The air seemed to be filled with shiny rosy particles, which made the chirping of birds even more tranquil and warm.

It all seemed so familiar, as if it was a scene from some distant memories. Then I realized, I could have been living in a poem by Tang Dynasty poet Wang Wei or a painting by master Zhao Mengfu .

Today, I have plenty of chances to experience the wild west of the United States, the transparent sea of Australia, the vast desolate deserts of Africa, the mysterious plateaus of South America and the romantic Rhine of Europe. But I have long neglected the Chinese experience.

The rugged rocks, the elegant pines, they used to define the artistic ambiance of ancient Chinese scholars. But sadly, I had not given them enough thought, until that quiet dusk, when I paused halfway on a journey to Sanqing Mountain, a renowned Taoist site in East China's Jiangxi Province.

By all means, Sanqing Mountain is a typical example of traditional Chinese culture: the gorgeous granite peaks, the weathered but energetic pines, the mists and drizzles brought by refreshing wind. Wherever you take a snapshot, you can get a perfect picture of what ancient painters once depicted.

After a two-hour flight from Beijing to Quzhou of East China's Zhejiang Province, my friends and I took a bus to Yushan, which took an hour. Another one-hour bus ride sent us to the foot of Sanqing Mountain, where we took the cable, which spans over two peaks.

Halfway into the 40-minute cable ride, the first peak miraculously shielded all the earthly clattering. A cuckoo sang on hurriedly, while another unknown bird echoed in a languid tune. As our cable hit the branches, insects flew up and squirrels hastened away.

I turned off the mobile and immersed my heart in the silence. Silence, it seemed, had many layers just like the overwhelming green - the bright sparkling pteridophytes, the dark furry leaves of azalea, and the shiny pine needles.

The cable stopped at the bottom of a valley, towered by the Heavenly Gate peaks. Several porters balanced the loads of vegetables and bottled water on shoulder poles as they picked their way along the sharply ascending steps. They were sending a day's necessities to the hotels in the mountains.

Half an hour later, we finished the stone steps and found ourselves at the 4,600-meter-long plank road, which ancients built with logs at an average elevation of 1,600 meters along the precipices.

Along the way, pines and azaleas often reached into my face. I found the pines particularly photogenic. Their main trunks lean close to the cliffs, but all the branches reach toward the valley filled with drifting mists.

When I traveled in Europe, I often noticed the pines, which looked just like sturdy soldiers on guard. But here at Sanqing Mountain, the pines which grow out of small crevices on the granite peaks all have sparse dark needles and huge knobs with multiple wrinkles that make them look like bearded octogenarians.

Pine is an everlasting image in traditional Chinese painting. Many Westerners find it hard to discover the beauty of an old pine or a rock with many holes, but Chinese would instantly recall thoughts in Taoism and Buddhism.

In 1998, Chinese artist Hong Lei created a photographic work by combining an ancient landscape painting with a modern, towering chimney. The classic landscape was instantly destroyed by the symbol of modernization and the artist lamented the disappearing Chinese spirit.

I have long shared the same sense of loss and couldn't find any way out. But here at Sanqing Mountain, there seems to be an answer.



Sanqing Mountain's picture-perfect landscape.

The Taoist temple Sanqinggong, or Palace of Three Immortals, was built 1,600 years ago and remains the essence of the mountain.

Unlike populated scenic regions, where the temples have been invariably painted anew, Sanqinggong has maintained its aged appearance. The original architecture was modeled upon the Eight Diagrams of Taoism. But only a central courtyard is still intact.

The dimly lit main hall seemed to be permeated with coolness. Upon our invitation, a young nun chanted three passages from a scripture. She couldn't explain the exact meaning, but the texts left by some unknown sages sounded peaceful and surprisingly pleasant.

Close by the temple is a simple restaurant. After the rustic but appetizing lunch, we moved wooden benches outside and sipped tea with big pottery bowls. Nearby, a half-filled barrel was left on the rim of an ancient well. I could imagine how Tang Dynasty poet Wang Wei felt when he wrote: "A bright moon shines among the pines, a clear spring flows among the rocks."

As more and more Chinese join package tours or help themselves in journeys overseas, places like Sanqing Mountain which feature traditional Chinese landscape have been neglected, except perhaps, for the three major holidays in the year.

But my short trip there convinces me that to be a real Chinese, I must climb such mountains many many times.