Just as we exited the highway at Baohua Town and turned onto a winding cement village road, we encountered a sudden light rain. Fine raindrops densely slanted across the sky and earth, and the peculiar peaks that had been clearly visible moments ago were now shrouded in thick clouds, hazy and mysterious. We passed a village where low sheds were built from sedimentary debris and soon arrived at our friend's Sanqian·Chaye Mountain View Homestay. As we arrived, dusk gradually spread.
As soon as we got out of the car, the lush greenery and fresh air of the mountains greeted us. The peculiar peaks we had seen on the road were now right before us. Sanqian·Chaye Mountain View Homestay is situated on a gentle slope to the south, with a few typical rural courtyards clustered at the foot of the opposite mountain, standing quietly in the serene forest, exuding a peaceful pastoral charm. We arrived too late; the village gradually faded into the dimness of dusk, the sounds of roosters and dogs also faded, and not a glimmer of light came from the farmhouses. I wondered if anyone lived there. Our friend told us that the villagers in the mountains go to bed early. Indeed, deep in the mountains where only the sound of pine trees and streams can be heard, humans are just one species dwelling in nature, no different from other animals, living a simple rural life, working at sunrise and resting at sunset, following nature's laws of autumn harvest and winter storage, day and night. So at night, they close their eyes with the world, hold their breath, rest and recuperate, quietly welcoming the next day in silence.
After drinking and chatting, we stayed in a standalone glass house at Sanqian·Chaye Mountain View Homestay. The top of the house resembled an airplane, and the dark tree shadows outside the railing were reflected under the eaves of the wings, swaying in the wind. The gentle wind outside mixed with the babbling stream in the valley occasionally drifted in. The half-open screen window let in an invisible cool breeze, warm and soft, like nature's kind hands gently caressing its child. I woke up in the dead of night; the tree shadows under the eaves still swayed lightly, the wind and water sounds sometimes fast and sometimes slow, and nature's comfort grew stronger. In this pure and free mountain, no noise from outside could penetrate. Even if the wind and rain never cease, and the cold and heat are unpredictable, as long as my eyes meet green mountains and a few thin rays of twilight casually fall on my shoulders at sunset, I feel these are nature's great gifts to humanity. The houses built among tall walnut and pine trees, like parked airplanes, perhaps tired of the boundless blue sky and white clouds, prefer to land in this verdant place, where they can not only look up at the blue sky and white clouds but also stand on solid ground, as stable as a child sleeping in a cradle.
We woke up in the gradually brightening morning light; the green mountains outside had been washed brighter by the night's wind and rain. The mountains outside the glass window were still wrapped in ever-changing mist. We couldn't wait to take umbrellas and walk through the quiet village, following a narrow gravel path along the mountain edge. This was the hiking trail hidden under the shade of trees that our friend had told us about. Low tea bushes lined both sides of the stone path, neatly planted on the slopes. The tea tips were still tender green, and the short trunks at the bottom of the tea plants were covered with bright green foliose and fruticose lichens. Seeing these lichens, we knew the air here was completely unpolluted. The exposed mountain surfaces showed clear layers of sedimentary rock, each layer with its own unique characteristics. Time, air, temperature, moisture, and the surrounding bird songs all settle with them, forming unique memories of time. We descended into the valley, where a sturdy walnut tree stood by the stream. Its thick trunk, which would take several people to encircle, indicated it had been growing for over a hundred years. The shallow stream was crystal clear, and the streambed was covered with scattered sedimentary rocks. Like happy children, we stepped into the cool water and picked up flat sedimentary stones of various sizes, assigning uses to each as we picked: this larger yellow stone could hold a teapot; this green one covered with lichen could also hold a teapot; look at these two small ones, they could be teacup coasters; and this one, take it home as a stone for stone-grill cooking; this one, with rich colors and a strange shape, a little kid would surely love to collect it... Our shoulder bags were soon filled with stones, but our eyes still held countless more.
We walked back carrying a heavy bag of stones. The rain in the mountains was so capricious, stopping and starting again. The village appeared and disappeared in the mist, and a small point of the sun emerged from the thick clouds, only to be hidden again, leaving the village gazing upward in silence. Once, the name Wuliang Mountain meant Cherry Blossom Valley to us, but in Laobuqu Village, we were fortunate to get to know its complete mountain character. Its unique natural charm will become our exclusive memory, settling in our travel time.
