It is said that Niaodiao Mountain is the ceiling of Dali's alpine meadows, an existence like "Altay," deeply favored by many outdoor enthusiasts. The Love Heart Lake there is a popular check-in spot where people stop and camp, bustling with visitors. On holidays, Love Heart Lake is more like an outdoor market, with people coming and going, lively and bustling. The Creator sells natural scenery there, and visitors only need to pay a little physical effort and amazement to gain a healing natural comfort for the soul. Of course, for visitors with insufficient energy, the scenery here is not entirely free. They can spend some money to hire a horse, and the horse owner can lead them to the end of the trip—Love Heart Lake—and then lead them back to the roadside, completing a thrilling journey.
Before we even reached the navigation destination, we already witnessed the scorching popularity of Niaodiao Mountain. On the mountain road, many cars followed one after another, crossing the mountain. Near the entrance, cars parked along the roadside had already formed a long line, with both ends hidden in the thick fog, making it impossible to see how long the line was. We drove far past the entrance to find a parking spot, then got out and joined the massive crowd marching toward Niaodiao Mountain, vast and mighty.
Stepping over the iron railing by the roadside, we set foot on the gently undulating meadow of Niaodiao Mountain, stretching for dozens of kilometers, and also entered the thick fog of summer, unable to distinguish east from west. My friend pointed to the dirt road faintly visible in the mist and said, "Walk along this road for more than ten kilometers to reach the end of the hiking route, which is also the end for most visitors—Love Heart Lake." On the road, groups of two or three travelers and herders leading horses passed before us, leaving blurry black shadows that quickly disappeared into the thick fog, with only their voices audible. We left the main road and the crowd, walking into the sparsely populated wilderness where shrubs and grasslands grew alternately. When the mist around us drifted away, the unfamiliar wilderness ahead gradually unfolded before our eyes, and Niaodiao Mountain finally revealed its long-hidden face.
My friend and the children actually found two intact porcini mushrooms on the open grass near the shrubs. We almost changed our purpose for this trip because of these two mushrooms, each bending over and staring at the shrubs to find mushrooms, until unfamiliar or definitely poisonous mushrooms were easier to find, until the distant mountain wilderness stood like a fairy in the distance, calling...
After climbing the last steep slope before Love Heart Lake, two clear paths appeared before us. One path turning right was noticeably wider, leading to Love Heart Lake, where hundreds of tourists were gathered. The other path pointed straight ahead to the more distant grassland and ridge, leading not only to a lower-lying depression on the left (where a few scattered tourists were, with early birds already returning from the distant slope) but also a faint trail leading to a downward-dipping ridge at the edge of sight, where no other moving species could be seen except for a few white sheep grazing in the shrubs.
Naturally, we did not choose the path leading to the bustling market. Instead, we climbed another slope straight ahead, heading toward a grassland on the right blocked by a mountain. Beside a small pond, there were several yellow and black horses, all plump and strong, scratching each other's itches with their heads. One yellow horse was relatively lean, with its mane flying in the wind, looking very handsome.
There were almost no tourists here. Only our group of six stared blankly at the distant, unreachable wilderness, while time slowly flowed toward dusk. The slope before the ridge looked gentle and approachable, but we always kept a distance from it. Time and physical strength once made us want to give up, but the charm of the uninhabited land and the close distance constantly tempted us to move forward. After a short rest, we continued toward the distance.
Passing through a forest path covered with decaying leaves, we finally arrived at the slope below the ridge. It was covered with alpine rhododendrons whose flowers had long withered. One solitary flower stood tall beside a huge rock—the only rhododendron flower on the entire meadow; its companions had all withered in early summer. Surprisingly, some branches held small green buds, though it was uncertain whether they would bloom. Besides the alpine rhododendrons, there was a patch of thorny shrubs bearing clusters of red and green fruits, very bright and lovely, with a fragrant aroma.
Only about fifteen minutes of hiking remained to the ridge we considered our destination, but the children couldn't hold on. They sat on large rocks among the shrubs, waiting for us to return. As we four adults were about to leave, a large flock of sheep gathered, followed by a herd of yellow cattle, a vast crowd of livestock surrounding us.
My friend had herded sheep since childhood and was experienced. He said these cattle and sheep were used to being with humans and would come over when they heard voices. They thought the owner had come to feed them salt, no wonder they kept staring at the snacks in the children's hands. The children held out sweets, but they weren't interested; they stood still with smiling faces. When they threw out salty biscuits, they began to compete for them, still smiling, with their nice beards dancing in the wind.
After the sheep and cattle dispersed, we left the children on the slope and began to charge the last hundred meters of height, climbing onto the ridge. Another flat grassland suddenly appeared before us. Just by looking at the grass, clean without a single plastic bottle or packaging bag, we knew there were no tourists here, and even few herders came. The mist shrouded this pure, uninhabited land, like an invisible barrier hiding it away, not open to outsiders.
I mustered all my strength and climbed to the top of the adjacent hill in one breath. In the moment when the clouds and mist dispersed, I saw the wilderness beneath my feet: a winding shallow stream, whether an end or a beginning, near the grass where my friend sat. Along the stream were many small ponds, together with the grassland forming a miniature version of the Thousand Lakes Prairie, stretching vast into the invisible thick fog, much like the rainy season's Xiaohuadian Dam. In another direction, my gaze fell on a larger, more distant slope, where a group of horses leisurely grazed. A very short ray of sunlight shone on their backs. Before I could see clearly, a thick cloud of mist rushed toward me, tightly enveloping me, carrying cool rain, until I was driven back by the chill and rushed down the mountain.
Walking back from the uninhabited land of Niaodiao Mountain toward Love Heart Lake, most tourists had already returned. Only a group of campers were setting up tents by the lake; the market had long dispersed. Horses idled on the horizon, leisurely swishing their tails and grazing. The grass beneath our feet seemed like a spreading morning dream, gradually expanding in all directions under the whispering breeze, but suddenly awakened by a stumbling stone, inexplicably opening eyes in the mist, wanting to follow a weak ray of evening light to find a shelter for the cold night.
When the sunset gently fell on the distant windmill hilltop ahead, we also set off on our return journey. Ahead, pedestrians hurried along; beside us, wind-chasing youths galloped past on horseback chasing the sunset; and behind us, there was the silent wilderness and the uninhabited land we loved at its end, soon hidden in the mist. After watching a brief scene of distant mountains at sunset, we too soon walked back into the thick fog, like the heavy fog when we came.
