Because of my greed for the clear and crisp winter skies, I always prefer the open, panoramic views of mountaintop pastures, avoiding the secluded, dim, and gloomy forest paths. In fact, for me, living in seclusion in the mountains is already a joy. Whether it's a forest path or a mountaintop pasture, both are part of the ideal mountain life. I shouldn't treat them differently, but the cold winter days make me seek more sunlight and warmth, so I repeatedly turn my gaze to the mountain peaks.
After becoming familiar with most of the surrounding mountains and repeatedly immersing myself in the mountaintop pastures that give a feeling of soaring, I began to patiently turn to the dense forests with little sunlight, searching for scenery and solitude different from the mountaintops. There are few pedestrians on the mountain paths, and even fewer passing vehicles. Apart from the sound of wind and the hidden stream in the forest, this place is exclusively for birdsong. The sunlight arrives late, crossing the ridge to shine down. At the village entrance, several women gather to go into the mountains to rake pine needles. They leave with laughter and play, then hide all day in the pine forest, which exudes the fragrance of plants, returning to the village in the evening, exhausted. They know this forest better than anyone and rely on it more.
I walk along a winding path leading to a low-lying forest. The air in the lowlands is not as flowing as on the mountaintop, but it is intoxicating with the fragrance of various tree saps. The sunlight still lingers on the tips of the pine trees on the high slopes, while the mountain path remains in the cold. I need to keep walking to get through the winter days shrouded in gloom and chill. The silence here is so different from the mountaintop. I worry about being startled by a pedestrian or wild animal that suddenly appears silently before me, unable to fully let down my guard and enjoy the morning birds singing among the branches.
When the morning sun illuminates the forest on the slopes, the birds have already made it their stage, singing heartily and chirping endlessly, very lively. By the path ahead, a few green plants happen to be in the sunlight, their leaves shimmering with a beautiful bright green, catching the eye at once. The sunlight falling on the leaves seems like a unique sound, making them stand out from the crowd, like a singing mountain bird.
I don't know the origin of this ordinary mountain path. Perhaps it was for grazing cattle and sheep, as there are a few small patches of grass in the forest; perhaps for foraging mushrooms, as villagers often slip into the pine forest in summer and autumn to find matsutake, porcini, morels, and other fungi; or perhaps for convenience in cutting trees, collecting hemp fruits, or clearing streams. In any case, this path connects several nearby village groups. I followed it to complete a full loop, from Tuolagong to Shijiaben to Shuozhujiao, and even passed through Dongsangka, which I had deliberately and painstakingly sought before.
Near Shijiaben, a carefully built wooden bridge spans the creek. One of the crossbeams clearly records the villagers' donation amounts and the time of construction. I wonder why, in such a remote wilderness, with a stream that is neither swift nor wide, people would go to such trouble to build this wooden bridge instead of using a thick plank or a few sturdy tree trunks tied together, as elsewhere. However, the knee-high crossbeams on the bridge railing are good for resting. Sitting on the bridge, listening to the stream and the rustling of bamboo, has its own charm.
After glancing at the map, I realized I was getting closer to Dongsangka. The path extended into the high pine forest, and within a few meters, I reached this wild land that humans had returned to nature. This time, there was no shepherd sitting by the stream smoking a pipe, no sheep coming up to chew the yellow grass. The sunlight came later and was weaker, and the silence was deeper. I sat on a square piece of wood in the grass near a wooden hut and finished the dry food in my bag: two pumpkin cakes and two boiled eggs. It was still early, so I wandered aimlessly around and around, trying to find a more convincing reason to stay longer. I found nothing except a hidden path beside the hut.
I hesitated for a long time: should I cross the stream and climb the opposite slope to return the same way, or follow the newly discovered path to explore further? Ample time and energy led me to choose the latter, which allowed me to complete a full loop hidden in the valley forest. I encountered the small pond the villagers had mentioned and a breathtakingly beautiful uninhabited place: a shallow, clear stream in the wilderness, a tree growing on a soft patch of mud beside it, red fallen leaves covering the ground, and the warm winter sun shining on the stream and leaves, making one forget the solitude of the wild.
