Zhemo Mountain seems to be the sole reason for the existence of this old national road between Dali and Weishan, at least for those who love to climb high and gaze far. If not for the pure and striking clear sky that day, I think we would have taken a shortcut through the tunnel inside the mountain to get home, instead of turning onto this dusty winding mountain road, following the stone path leading to the wind turbines at the summit to climb Zhemo Mountain again, to take a look at the land where autumn has not yet truly arrived.
Huge white wind turbines stretch along the ridge into the distance, their heavy blades whirring. Although it is not yet the windy season, the wind here is still fierce and strong, as it is all year round, and the turbines spin their blades endlessly, never resting. The clouds cling to the tops of the turbines, and the gap between them and the earth seems to exist because of the turbines. Climb up, and it feels like you could reach out and pluck a tuft of cloud.
The nearest peak to the north is crisscrossed with ravines, close at hand. That is the southernmost peak of the Cangshan Mountains, named Xiyang Peak. On the summit of Xiyang Peak, a few small patches of emerald grassland are exposed under the bright, clear sky. The mountain there is steep and treacherous, only to be viewed from afar, and no one is likely to set foot on it, so it looks flawless, like a cold spring flowing from the depths of the earth, with sunlight reflecting on it as if making a tinkling sound. To the east are endless distant mountains, layered and undulating gently, with thick clouds drifting and swirling above. The sunlight struggles to penetrate the heavy clouds and spills down, making the distant mountains seem dusted with thin snow, sending chills all around.
Erhai Lake at the foot of the mountain looks very different from usual. Here, you don't see crowds of tourists, parked electric scooters everywhere, sightseeing buses full of visitors coming and going, or the mundane north-south artificial sightseeing corridor. Looking down from the summit of Zhemo Mountain, Erhai is no longer flowing water but a huge, smooth rock surface. The clouds reflected on it add to the texture and luster of the rock. The wind has left faint scratches on the uneven blue-white rock surface, so subtle they are almost negligible, yet they make the rock appear more three-dimensional and prominent.
The city between the mountains and the sea is Dali city proper, the core area of "wind" in Dali's iconic four scenes "wind, flower, snow, moon." Locals call it Xiaguan. Twenty kilometers north is Dali Old Town, the true Dali. I remember when I first arrived in Dali in 2014, I thought this was Dali. After a glance at the cityscape and a ride over the famous Xingsheng Bridge, the monotonous hustle and bustle of the city urged us to leave. On the way to Dali Old Town, twenty kilometers away, we saw the Cangshan Mountains and Erhai Lake on both sides of the road and decided to stay.
Standing on the summit of Zhemo Mountain and looking at the city gives a different feeling. The light and distance here automatically filter out the noise, restlessness, and disorder of the city. The concrete jungle doesn't look so annoying; the orderly buildings resemble children's building blocks, with a touch of geometric aesthetics. They stand on the narrow flat land between the mountains and the sea, facing Erhai like a group of penguins, gazing at a vast ocean.
The open fields to the south of Zhemo Mountain belong to Weishan. Although separated from Dali by only one mountain, they seem like two different worlds in terms of living habits, history, and culture. In fact, the Yi people of Weishan and the Bai people of Dali are quite different ethnic groups. From this perspective, Zhemo Mountain is a unique presence. This land appears more stable, without much fluctuation. Small towns and villages are scattered on the flatland, like white flowers clustered in the mountains, where only the sound of the wind can be heard.
Under the setting sun, a few sheep emerge from the bushes on the hillside, and the evening wind becomes more fierce. The ribbon-like wind turbine road at the summit seems endless. White clouds roll and churn in the mid-air, and the road flows in the drifting shadows. The places they pass have always been the distant lands I yearn for. I imagine there will be much untamed nature, growing freely in the seasons beyond human reach, pure and beautiful. Even under a clear sky, a faint mist still hangs over them, beyond the clarity of human sight.
