Huangshiya Cliff

Huangshiya Cliff

Many of the valleys and gullies around Mount Tai share similar names—like Confusing Valley and Forked Five Valley. Now I’ve come to Huangshiya, which at first I thought was near Taohuayu, but it turned out to be a cliff on another side.

Walking into the valley through the village brought a feeling of bleakness. Fallen leaves panted between the rocks, orange persimmons hung from the rooftops of deserted houses, and hawthorns were knocked down by villagers who had climbed up tall tree stumps, landing in the withered yellow grass, hiding shyly in red. The hawthorns these days are delicious, devoid of that astringent taste, their sweet-and-sour flavor tingling through the blood—it’s truly a refreshing treat.

Wandering through this unfamiliar mountain valley, the dark green moss had turned black, perhaps due to a lack of heavy rain. A thick carpet of fallen leaves stripped the trees of their vibrancy, while tall cliffs displayed vivid red foliage, and the valley was filled with autumn-yellow trees and withered yellow vegetation—nature’s retreating brilliance heralding the arrival of late autumn.

Climbing up the terrace-like ridges onto the mountain ridge, I entered a forest tinged with autumn yellow. Making my way along the mountainside, I hoped to see flowers blooming in all four seasons, yet only wild chrysanthemums spread across the hills—nowhere without them, nowhere without their intense yellow brilliance. The rich fragrance of chrysanthemums wafted constantly to my nose. I realized the mountain chrysanthemums are more intense than those in villages, their blooms larger too. So large, in fact, they sometimes looked like Inula flowers. Occasionally, Inula flowers were still in bloom, their neat, uniform petals forming a perfect circle, not a single one out of place. It was marvelous—I found myself mesmerized and intoxicated by their orderly beauty.

Stepping into the midsection of Mount Tai, I was surrounded by layers of peaks, all slightly veiled in mist but still showcasing the undulating, uneven lines of the ink-wash mountains. The most dramatic elevations were Aitou Mountain and Pingding Mountain. Ah, I still hadn’t seen Dai Summit—it seemed I had been confused back then.

After resting at the first mountain pass, I continued on and gradually reached an inclined fire prevention road. I instantly fell in love with this mountain ridge. The thick meadow had hints of yellowing, flanked by dark green pines guarding the wide expanse of grass. I could see the relatively flat Guanyue Pavilion Ridge. Between me and the ridge were numerous mountain ranges, but the more I looked, the more disoriented I became. We still don’t know Mount Tai well enough—constantly feeling puzzled, unsure of our orientation. Giving myself the excuse of confusion, the unknown creates a beautiful distance. Late autumn has arrived, but it’s still a great time to appreciate the season.

Lying on the meadow, I looked up at the ridges, gently touching the imperial grassy hill above me. There was no wind, no sunlight, no noise. From somewhere, birds called softly to their companions. Countless wild chrysanthemums laughed joyfully around me. Turning my head, I spotted small purple bellflowers. The sand ginseng flowers here bloomed unusually large. Unlike the small-mouthed ones at lower altitudes, these had large bell-shaped mouths revealing pure white stamens. Without looking at the leaves, one might mistake them for Adenophora. When the flowers wilted, they drooped on their stems like purple ribbons, waiting for seeds to return. Late autumn has arrived, and these blossoms hurriedly planted hope early, reluctantly stepping off the stage.

Standing atop Huangshiya Cliff and gazing into the vast surroundings, the sunlight appeared somewhat pale, casting the ridges in a hazy expanse. I spotted Yuquan Temple nestled in a mountain hollow, enveloped by dark greenery. The tile-roofed houses piled up like building blocks carried layers of history—who had built them in such a marvelous spot? The Food Shed I once passed by turned out to be on such a high mountaintop, with a sheer cliff on one side. We never see the true face of Mount Tai because we simply haven’t walked enough paths. Trying hard to recall where I was, this unremarkable cliff, in this season—who was I, drunk and lying on Huangshiya Cliff, for?