The brief beautiful moments of camping on the summit of Taiping Mountain last summer are still vivid in my mind, especially that morning when the whole world was covered with clear dew, making me feel like retreating from the world. During the Spring Festival this year, we planned a southeast route, but everyone wanted to camp there again, so we deliberately set aside an extra day to detour to Nanjian and drive straight to Taiping Mountain in Wuliangshan Town.
In early spring, Taiping Mountain was so desolate and silent. Apart from the sparse evergreen shrubs and alpine rhododendrons emitting a dull green glow, there was no sign of life. Even the streams were thin and still. The vibrant oval-sepal flowers and the hydrangeas on the slopes beside the stream in summer had vanished, becoming beautiful memories of this mountain. The cattle and sheep would remember them, as would the high school girl who followed the flock while listening to music. But today, I didn't see them, nor the beautiful scenes I saw that morning and the previous evening.
The entire meadow was empty, not a single piece of debris in sight, looking exceptionally clean and fresh. Only an old man sat by the roadside, sorting the herbs he had collected while herding sheep. He seemed unwilling to talk to us, just burying his head in sorting the dried herbs. Probably, in his eyes, we were people with something wrong in our heads—who would come to this place with nothing when the sun was about to set? His few sheep were scattered across the vast barren land, laboriously nibbling at the sparse green beneath the yellow grass. There used to be a large flock, but most had been sold, leaving only these few.
We stood at the spot where we camped last year, intending to pitch our tent there again, brew tea and coffee while watching the sunset, and then cook a pot of hot soup when night fell, gazing up at the starry sky. But the wind was too strong. As we stood there, the boundless gale seemed to sense something unusual and curiously rushed over, joining forces to blow us over. It absolutely refused to allow anything other than the earth to exist there. Truly, the spring wind was boundless.
I climbed over a nearby ridge to take a look, hoping to find a sheltered and flat place where we could spend the night peacefully. I really wanted to stay and camp again, not wanting to be blown away easily. On the other side of the ridge was a small pond, and right next to it was a flat patch of grass. When I stood there, the wind happened to be gentle. I called my family, and they liked the spot too, so we started busy moving everything out of the car.
By the time we set up the table, chairs, food, and tent, the boundless wind caught up again, overturning everything. Why didn't it blow here before we did all this? Right, it was so clumsy, lacking the keen sense of smell of a hammer, and took several minutes to find us. Damn wind! We had to pack everything back into the car and reluctantly leave this early spring meadow warmed by the setting sun.
Hammer is our dog, and we take him everywhere. While we were busy moving things, he was patrolling around, and only after ensuring safety did he start frolicking on the grass, running and playing endlessly. Seeing us about to leave, he kept running far away, refusing to get in the car no matter how much I called. He loved it here too.
Worried about the rugged mountain roads in the dark, we left Taiping Mountain before sunset. Next to the Fadadi Village Committee, there was a very sheltered corridor overlooking the entire village, and we stayed there. Although not as serene as Taiping Mountain, with occasional roosters crowing at night and the rustling of mice, it was still quiet, and most importantly, almost windless. But I didn't sleep well all night, suffering painfully in the darkness. When getting out of the car, I was distracted and didn't pull my hand out in time, and the car door mercilessly crushed my thumb, which turned purple-black. The pain grew stronger with each passing night, and I couldn't sleep, so I left the tent and sat on a bench under the corridor, sobbing quietly. I welcomed a sunrise amidst my tears.
