Back when I was an exchange student in Xi’an, I always dreamed of visiting the local landmark, Mount Hua. To reach Mount Hua, you can take a cable car or hike up on foot, but taking the cable car only takes about ten minutes before you can see the spot where the “Huatuo Duel” (as described in Jin Yong’s novels) took place.
On my first trip to Mount Hua with my family, considering my grandmother’s poor health, we opted for the cable car. As we ascended, I marveled at the barren, steep cliffs around us and wondered how the local government managed to build the cable car system there. On my second trip, however, a group of enthusiastic classmates and I were determined to hike all the way from the base to the West Peak, which stands at an elevation of 2,082 meters—the lowest of Mount Hua’s five major peaks. After dinner at a restaurant at the mountain’s base that evening, we packed our gear and set off, bringing headlamps, red scarves for easy identification, and thick down jackets needed for the summit. It’s said the temperature at the summit is close to freezing.
As we climbed, we admired the bright moonlight casting shadows on the rocky walls. One classmate started singing Su Shi’s “Prelude to Water Melody”: “When will the moon be clear and bright? With a cup of wine in my hand, I ask the blue sky… I wonder what year it is tonight in the palace in the sky…” For a moment, everyone hummed along. Though we came from different places, the ancient poem connected us all in a shared resonance—it was quite special.
Before we knew it, we had reached a midway point on the mountain where a small pavilion offered a place to rest, along with some small vendors selling snacks. I was amazed by how locals carried all kinds of food and water up the mountain manually. While resting, we met another hiking group from our university. They kindly told us the best time to watch the sunrise and suggested ideal photo spots. It was truly a serendipitous encounter to meet people from both sides of the Taiwan Strait on this corner of Mount Hua.
After around five hours of climbing, we finally made it to the summit. Following the hiking club’s advice, we claimed a prime spot with great views. Since it was early autumn and sunrise was late, some classmates rented thick blankets and lay down to nap on the ground, while others bought instant noodles or hot chocolate from vendors to warm up. Then, around 6 a.m., the distant sky shifted from grey to orange-red, and in less than five minutes, golden light suddenly burst forth.
Everyone let out exclamations of awe, marveling at the beauty of nature. Deep down, I silently thanked my parents for giving me the financial means to visit the mainland, meet friends from all over, and experience life so different from that in Taiwan.
Originally, we planned to continue exploring other peaks after watching the sunrise, but due to exhaustion, we decided against it. We took the cable car back down and looked back at the nearly 90-degree vertical stairs we had climbed in the dark. It was a good thing we couldn’t see how steep they were at night—that pushed us to keep going. Had it been daytime, the sheer danger might have intimidated us. The only regret from this Mount Hua trip was not getting to see the Changkong Zhan Dao (Skywalk Plank Road), as it was closed for the winter. But perhaps that’s for the best—it gives me another reason to come back.
Even now, when I flip through old photos, I’m reminded of that Mount Hua adventure—how much youthful boldness and wanderlust it carried? A group of young people, full of passion for exploring the unknown. And Mount Hua still stands proudly in Xi’an, welcoming adventurers from all over. I wonder if, as you hike, you too find yourself imagining the heroes of Jin Yong’s novels, riding the wind and leaving behind memories as precious as gold.