A nearly horizontal ray shoots out from the mountain, and after a few hundred meters, under the force of gravity, the ray is broken and slowly descends until it finds a foothold on the ground. Simali Village spreads out on the upper base and hypotenuse of a shape resembling a right trapezoid. The predominantly white and earth-yellow buildings blend into the surrounding vast green mountains, appearing not too abrupt. The village is calm, silent, restrained, and simple, like a giant bird perched among the mountains.
We stood on the distant main road and saw Simali Village. The village did not seem large, only two rows of houses on the upper base of the trapezoid, and a few scattered along the cement road leading into the village. It was only when we entered the village and found a high point that we saw more small and simple farmhouses on the southern slope. Many courtyards had their gates half-closed, and from the slope, the surrounding courtyards were empty, with no villagers moving about.
Just after entering the village, I walked down a narrow dirt road that sloped steeply in front of the village, looking for a shady spot to sit. I met a villager heading out to graze cattle, driving three or five yellow oxen toward the valley. At this time, the villagers were scattered in the nearby mountains, either sowing or fertilizing crops, or grazing livestock. Their lives, like the air around them, flowed between the unseen peaks and deep valleys, merging with the earth.
Under the clear summer sky, the village seemed like an isolated island in the ocean. Beyond the rolling distant mountains lay the vast blue sea, and the floating clouds in the sky were like white foam splashed by fierce winds hurling the azure water against rocks. The village nestled in a low-lying area, like a crab avoiding wind and waves, quietly lying in the mud away from danger. The towering mountains provided the village with the most solid shelter.
The narrow village roads had long been paved with thick cement, leading to individual courtyard gates. Most courtyard gates were tightly shut. No matter how hard the stranger who wandered the village for two hours tried, he could not see through the life behind the gates. Village life is mostly monotonous, dull, and uneventful, yet so simple that those who love such a life yearn for it. Moreover, each courtyard has its own uniqueness, each farmhouse its own joys and sorrows, not all the same, like flowers growing from the same stem, each with its own brilliance and withering. They follow the four seasons of nature, yet within those seasons, they hold fast to their own dawns and dusks, unhurried.
The village during the day is not completely empty; the elderly and children still guard the vast, silent village. During the holidays, children gather in groups to play games by the roadside, shouting and laughing joyfully. Their toys come from the village, from the earth. As for the elderly, they tend the small plots of land by the roadside outside their homes, planting seasonal vegetables. Under their tireless hands, weeds have no chance to survive. They hobble along the narrow village paths, their aging bodies growing weaker and more stooped, while the distant green mountains stand tall and unchanging, as they have for eons.
A mule tied under a big tree to cool off stared calmly at the stranger, then chewed on the grass beside it, as if no one was there.
On both sides of the mountain path leading to the village's Earth God Temple are ancient trees with twisted, winding branches. Sitting in the shade of these old trees, you can feel the cool breeze blowing from the distant, clear mountains, follow a light floating cloud above your head as it chases the indistinct distant peaks, or embrace the unobstructed mountains before you, taking a carefree nap on a cool summer afternoon, dreaming a happy, worry-free dream.
When dusk arrives, the setting sun hugs the distant, towering ridges, gently caressing this giant bird called Simali Village. Orange light clings to it like the bird's smooth feathers, bringing a suitable warmth to welcome the cool night. The villagers sit under the dark-tiled eaves, and the unclaimed dusk spreads freely.
During the day, the village is quiet, with few villagers moving about. But now, the village becomes lively. They gather from the open cornfields, from the dense forests, from the distant grassy slopes where they graze cattle, from all directions of the vast world, converging on the village, returning to their white and earth-yellow houses to enjoy family time. A few hours later, when the village finally fades into darkness, becoming part of the night, a silence deeper than the day will envelop the entire village until the next day arrives.
