The boundless vast jungle of Jingmai Mountain undulates continuously between the summer sea of clouds, like an ocean with no land in sight. When we caught a glimpse of the gray tile rooftops hidden deep in the forest from afar, we felt that the destination of this journey was no longer unknown, and our steps began to ease. The daylight gradually slanted, almost at the dividing line between incandescent and orange. Time was still ample, so we probably wouldn't look too haggard. But if we couldn't see the dark gray roofs of Wengji Ancient Village gathered in the jungle, we might have to grope in the dark for a long time.
We are just passersby, so naturally we wouldn't feel the strong passion of returning home like the locals. The dim yellow streetlights in the village wouldn't guide us to which door to push open, walk in, taste a fragrant meal, chat intimately with family for a while, then lie down securely in the cool night, and amidst the fierce struggle between the rolling sea of clouds and the vast Milky Way for another deep mountain, dream a carefree dream until awakened by the chirping of birds and crowing of roosters the next morning. Then, stepping into the warm morning light, we would walk into the lush tea forests or narrow terraced fields, and there, with solid backs, feel the simple farming life as the sun's warmth turns to scorching heat.
If the internet were not so developed, the roads not so smooth, or even the transportation not so convenient, Wengji Ancient Village would probably still maintain its existence as a farming human settlement, emitting a natural scent like pine needles in the rain in its consistently isolated, slow, barren, and dull jungle. The caravan men on the Ancient Tea Horse Road might occasionally cross mountains to break into the village, but they would be just a torrent, rushing in fiercely and leaving quickly, not mixing in for long, not disturbing the peaceful life of the Blang people here for too long, much less raising a banner to change the rhythm of life that has been played out in the jungle for hundreds of years.
Then, we probably wouldn't have known it, and certainly wouldn't have barged in before a certain dusk in the rainy season, witnessing the unique character of this mysterious ethnic minority, even if only a small part of their life. Now, apart from the ancient buildings that attract tourists and the rare, silent figures of locals in ethnic costumes, this Blang settlement is not much different from the outside world. It is even like the Nuogan Ancient Village we visited a few hours earlier; if you strip both of their few remaining unique souls, they are almost identical in appearance. But Wengji Ancient Village seems to have lost more.
The gently sloping stone paths are sandwiched between ancient buildings on both sides, extending upward or downward, curving into long, simple alleys. I would rather, when stepping into these alleys, catch a glimpse of the mysterious true colors of the locals' lives, rather than shops with identical wooden plaques. Too many travel photography shops, cultural creative stores, and tie-dye shops have set up here; we simply cannot skip them. Amidst the heavy commercial atmosphere, we have to look for things that belong to old times, like a stone wall without excessive decoration, a high window with a pot of pink geraniums, a bamboo fence enclosing a tranquil life in the courtyard, and a wisp of lively cooking smoke echoing the distant clouds.
We quickly walked through unfamiliar deep alleys, from the center of the village to the edge, then found a different alley to return, as if by traversing the entire village we could fully understand this place, leave without regret or reluctance, and never miss it again. But this superficial tour is truly annoying; we have turned this place into a tool to embellish our lives, and in doing so, we have also inadvertently turned ourselves into tools. In just an hour or even a few minutes, how dare we hope for more gains? I stood on a wooden platform of a homestay under construction next to the largest green tree in the village, gazing at the silent watch of the distant mountains, and suddenly realized that the sunset had already bathed the entire ancient village. At that moment, the serious-faced Blang old woman with deep eyes was walking in the alley, as if waiting for us to meet.
