I heard from a local colleague that there was a peach blossom festival on Huafeng Mountain near the office on Sundays. Intrigued, I decided to go for a spring hike. After getting off the bus, I joined a group of students I’d chatted with briefly on the ride and hiked up together along a country path, enjoying the rural scenery along the way. But when we turned onto the bustling, ornate welcome entrance bustling with traffic, the scene of people and cars looked like a scaled-down version of Yangmingshan’s flower season.

In late winter, the slopes were flushed with pink as I took in the sea of blossoms and crowds of people along the way. Following the trail map, I finally reached the mountaintop. After resting a bit and pondering which way to descend, I spotted the hiking group I’d met earlier and approached their leader, who was holding a large red flag. Three teammates nearby chimed in, saying the route they had chosen for the descent was “a path that doesn’t exist” and was quite challenging. I had assumed it would be like hiking trails in Taiwan, marked with colorful ribbons left by previous hikers. Also, riding on the confidence from exercising during the long Spring Festival holiday and acting on an impulsive, sentimental urge, I thought, why not, and decided to follow them.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, marking the passage of time. Distant mountains were veiled in mist. As I caught my breath, the moments slipped by on the slope. At first, unfamiliar with the trail, most of us hiked with our heads down. But at some point, those walking ahead would turn around, offer a hand to those lagging behind, warn about upcoming holes, or lift low-hanging branches that might scratch. To be honest, I started regretting it pretty soon—I had no ribbon markers to follow, couldn’t find the way back, and could only press on bravely. I regretted even more politely refusing their kind offer of hiking gloves, which led to my right palm getting scratched and bleeding by tree branches.

Before parting ways, I took a group photo with them as a keepsake. On the way back, I kept glancing back at the stunning dandelions blooming all over the mountain hollows—the beautiful white scenery I’d missed earlier. Beyond the enchanting floral display, this experience also gave me a taste of the warmth and kindness in Mainland China. With a little happy feeling in my heart, I set off on the return journey.

As soon as I got back to the hotel, I threw all my clothes—except my body and shoes—into the washing machine. Though in the next two or three days, I came down with a cold due to sore legs, numb hands, and weakened immunity, this heartwarming travel experience remained deeply etched in my mind, and I was still basking in that sweet sense of wonder.