The intention of this cannonade is not to revive people's already-dead vow to pursue freedom and honesty unto death, nor necessarily to stir their long-forgotten desire to listen to simplicity and humanity, nor even to inspire them to bravely shoulder the perseverance and responsibility they've cast aside. I’d rather it have just one purpose: to provoke deep skepticism about the various so-called “outdoor” scenes.
Back in the countryside, there are pigsties, cowsheds, and sheepfolds. But after moving to the city, I found they’ve been replaced by entertainment circles, photography circles, and outdoor circles. What I want to talk about is the outdoor circle, packed with people who dress up like domestic pigs begging for euthanasia.
The most basic form of “outdoors” is simply stepping out of your house. Its spiritual core advocates a simpler way of life and uses that approach to explore the unknown world, experience existence, and understand the world—while also representing a spiritual return to human nature. The self-guided [color=#000 !important]travelphilosophy we endorse is: authenticity, simplicity, and the pursuit of certain moods, walking and perceiving in a more unadorned manner.
“Outdoors” is a good teacher and friend. It teaches you freedom, not reckless indulgence; bravery, not [color=#000 !important]ignorance-fueled fearlessness; individuality, not mere eccentricity for attention-seeking; independence, not arrogance that disregards others; confidence, not showing off; perseverance, not stubbornness; universal love, not fair-weather friendships; responsibility, not being bogged down by trivial social obligations and endless networking leading nowhere; openness, not accepting everything blindly; freedom, not laziness, idleness, and frivolous disregard.“Outdoors” has become a trend—like a newly launched karaoke bar, or the latest mobile phone, or a symbol of pseudo-bohemianism. You go outdoors, and suddenly you're high-class, unique, cultured, part of the elite. Carry a big backpack around, and you puff up with pride, feeling like you’re floating. Gradually, it morphs into an arrogant, overbearing current.
The circle has become a stronghold for hypocrites, degenerates, and self-important individuals. Everyone smiles politely, just like the fashionable, refined upper class in the movies, greeting each other with a “Hey~~~!” “Where you off to play next?” Beneath their seemingly casual, unconstrained demeanor, they seem moved by a sense of superiority—that they are special. There’s also the soft, sappy, affected drivel music. It catalyzes this festering, tacky, noisy scene. A bunch of pretty boys who could be sweet-talked by any girl strut through crowds of beauties. The women puff themselves up with compliments and flirtation. Everywhere there’s smug posturing and ingratiating smiles, acne-like rebellion, and a dazzling chase after recklessness and novelty.
Westerners excel at turning everything—from cola to motorcycles—into culture. We, on the other hand, can commercialize anything—from erhu to cheongsams. Amidst fervent political movements and even more intense commercial tides, our culture first discarded the past during the brutal anti-Confucius campaigns that banned books and executed scholars. Then, in the chaotic rush to open up, we distorted the West while distorting ourselves. Against this backdrop, pseudo-outdoor culture is on par with subcultures, fast food culture, or trashy romance novels and fashion magazines in the cultural cesspool. Its traits are ease of operation, circulation, digestion—and excretion. Its so-called classic status and cultural depth crumble under the weight of its primary function: entertainment. And that’s precisely its advantage—or its disguise.
The commercialization and popularization of the outdoors is a good thing—it equips you to do your thing better. A friend told me his takeaway after reading “How to Become a Billionaire”: to get rich, build connections—that is, recruit downlines. Organize
events, draw crowds, boost sales—that’s the usual model. Through various events to attract attention, people rack their brains to come up with things that are COOL, IN, HIGH—things that get people excited without even needing morphine—but never guide their undefined outdoor spirit. As a result, in a big forest, all kinds of birds gather, and the mud and sand mix together—good and bad alike. Can you really starve without gimmicks?The environment is a stifling cage that makes people compromise unconsciously. There’s a theory abroad called “environmental determinism.” In China, there’s a saying: “If you stay near a pig, you’ll turn red.” You choose this circle because you think it’s pure—but it’s only relatively pure. Everyone is unconsciously influenced by societal vices. Once there’s a
clubforming a communication platform, those vices spread out of habit (habit is the enemy of freedom, proportional to mass, and exists in all human conditions, including our souls and thoughts—even if you try to suppress it). Like a thief who, after some time in prison, becomes a master thief. Clubs become breeding grounds for decay. We’re like a pot of frogs at the bottom of a well, surrounded by slowly heating water, letting maggots grow in our minds. You don’t see them because there’s already a maggot in your brain.Some hikers’ “outdoor” awareness stems merely from superficial desires for outdoor activities. These hikers dress more and more like
mountaineers, but their minds are increasingly like domestic pigs. This has created yet another spectacular sight: “glamorous corpse travel.” The ever-intensifying material desires of these hikers are making our souls paler and more twisted. Everyone seems indifferent to the rot within their own spiritual worlds. When everything becomes unnatural, unnatural becomes natural.Clubs are more like THE HOUSE OF DOLLS—excreting fleeting self-pleasuring cultures with wine and lights, placing themselves in mirage-like bourgeois fantasies that are far removed from the essence of the outdoors. The people in the circle are like the immortal vampires in *Interview with the Vampire*, or the respectable gentlemen and ladies in *Eyes Wide Shut*. The outdoors is just another option after they’ve grown bored of morphine and ennui.
Friends often
traveland come back telling me: “I made some great friends, had a blast.” I don’t know how the word “friend” is defined, and adding “great”—is it describing interpersonal relationships or showing off one’s social capital? Everyone’s out spending money together, of course it’s fun. I’d be just as happy eating hotpot with the Big Bad Wolf. Bacon said: “The crowd is not the same as companions. Faces are but fleeting shadows.” Anyone who’s been in society knows, “There are no eternal friends, only eternal interests.” Stephen Chow put it better: “If there’s something in it for me, I could even fool my own parents.” Only a fool like憨厚根 would believe “everyone in the outdoors is one family.” Is a few words of free encouragement and moral support called understanding? Called friendship? Does participating in outdoor activities automatically mean you’re not trash? Only in extreme situations—extremely harsh or extremely tempting—can you truly see who people around you really are.Every day is a rush. The day before yesterday was shopping, yesterday was a group dinner where everyone split the bill, the day before that was watching a movie, today was chatting online, tomorrow is hitting the bar, the day after is going for an outing, and the next is shooting photos. Everyone gets together and talks loudly, chattering away—in Hefei dialect it’s called “呱蛋,” in Northeastern slang it’s “pulling tunes from your crotch—talking nonsense.” Talking nonsense—that’s where the phrase comes from. Our culture sure has a way with words—striking right to the point. Hikers also often go for group dinners, three or four tables surrounded by dozens of people, like a wedding or funeral. A bunch of people late in their rebellious phase and hormones, table after table of lushes and libertines, meal after meal of greasy food stuffing numbness and boredom. Hidden behind the wine glasses are faces of walking corpses, rotting and bare-boned. On days when you don’t see each other, there are outdoor QQ groups, forums, text messages, MSN—you can keep chirping about birds, beasts, fighting cocks, flirting and showing off. Too many choices, too many temptations. The outdoor circle enriches the hikers, the hikers cheer for the outdoors, the voices of the hikers have drowned out the outdoors itself. And just when the outdoors is being ignored, I wonder: what exactly are these hikers cheering for? What’s the value and meaning of all they’re doing? Don’t say “everything that exists has a reason.” Does existence equal normalcy? Does having a reason make it reasonable? If what you see is normal outdoors, normal bohemians, normal decadence, normal revelry, normal numbness, normal boredom, normal ego inflation, normal obsession with distractions—then where’s the abnormal?
The small outdoor circle has also spawned many factions. “Which club are you with?” “People from XX Club are so badass.” “Who do you hang out with?” Tell them: “I’m a Northeasterner, I play in the mud and pee by myself.” People in the outdoors, having endured so much hardship, become more open-minded. But what I see is a bunch of selfish, petty individuals. Even if they appear calm, composed, and at ease, it’s more like unprincipled harmony—or deeper scheming, petty-bourgeois caution, the highest level of Machiavellianism. “Go your own way, let others talk!” is just written on their faces, hiding daggers and hidden conflicts behind it. They accuse each other: “XX is too commercial.” “XX is too amateur.” “XX is too corrupt.” They compete and vie with each other. You bring 20 people, I’ll get 40. You open a shop, I’ll open a bar. You climb 6,000 meters, I’ll go 8,000. True
...Outdoor SportsIt’s not about the form of climbing higher or the accumulation in quantity, but rather about the level of struggling against and overcoming difficulties. If you have extra energy, it’s better to buy more professional books and learn more skills. After all, outdoor activities are a type of special tourism — you can only share a spoonful if you have a bucketful yourself, to ensure everyone’s safety. Boasting and pushing products belong to a modern way of survival that benefits oneself at others’ expense, which is somewhat acceptable, but indulging in the corruption of outdoor culture is a moral flaw that harms both others and oneself, and is utterly intolerable.
I’m most annoyed by those so-called travelers who have zero technical skills yet possess some inexplicable sense of superiority. Nowadays, everyone can enjoy a GRAND TOUR — traveling has become as simple as an industrial assembly line. What you see only confirms your preconceived notions, and you never truly touch the soul or pulse of the place. You’re just fixated on going higher, farther, and doing more, stubbornly obsessed with the pathological notion of "I’ve been here" in terms of geographic traversal, or the sensory satisfaction of "I’ve seen this." Getting on and off vehicles, checking into accommodations, strolling around, buying tickets, looking for snacks — the hostels all look alike. You wake up each morning not knowing where you are, and when you get home, you can’t recall where you’ve been. I can’t tell the difference between walking the streets of Dali, Lijiang, or Fenghuang; the temples in Shigatse, Gyantse, or Gannan; or the skyscrapers in Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou. We are now inferior to the ancients, who should be considered the pioneers of outdoor sports. When they “climbed Mount Tai and viewed Lu as small,” Mount Tai was definitely not as crowded as it is now. When they “traveled a thousand li in a day back from Jiangling,” the Three Gorges weren’t as calm as they are today.
These so-called travelers swarm over every remaining piece of pristine land like locusts. Can you get aesthetic fatigue from seeing too many beautiful sights? What’s the difference between sunrises and sunsets in different places? “Beauty” doesn’t just come from the scenery; it comes more from the arduous process of seeking it. The body is in “hell,” but the eyes are in “heaven.” “Contemplating the vastness of heaven and earth, I am filled with sorrow and tears fall alone” — you feel uplifted once again. But in truth, we’re all a materialistic generation, the wolf-tier and above, and must not delude ourselves that our consumption all turns into spiritual nourishment. “What goes in is conscience, what comes out is thought.” You pat your butt, clean up, and head back, then put the wolf skin or tiger skin back on as needed, sharpening your knives.
These travelers are no different from ordinary tourists. Don’t be self-satisfied or smug, bragging about the places you’ve been and the experiences you’ve had — yes, other city folks may rarely have done the same, but the local mountain people have walked those paths countless times over generations. When travelers show off the sheep heads, trinkets, knives, and travel photos they bought as if they were trophies, their mindset isn’t much different from that of European colonial invaders — in fact, it’s even worse, as they also unknowingly encourage their own vanity and desire, as well as that of their audience.
Nature is alive — whether it’s a forest, an animal, or a lake, we are outsiders, intruders to them. Not to mention we carry with us the habits of society. The damage you bring to mountain areas is like the “sneeze” white people brought to indigenous peoples — even worse is that you turn them into “you.” Nearby, in Longjing River, a chicken is sold for 50 yuan; the once beautiful scenery is now covered in trash. Further away, places like Lijiang and Fenghuang are even more flashy, full of lights, wine, song, and dance — “no sight of the old women of Cangshan, only the sounds of birdsong and revelry, with wine and lust rising to the skies.” There’s an outdoor slogan that says “CHANGE YOUR LIFE,” but what I see is outdoor itself being changed. Travelers have become a kind of boastful capital, a gimmick. Though they immerse themselves in nature, there’s more of a rampant sense of curiosity, an excessive display of the “city person” attitude, which truly goes against the true essence and spirit of outdoor sports. The motives are impure, the behavior improper — it’s just that the methods are modern and the means more sophisticated. Then there are those travelers who treat travel as a way to make friends, indulging in fantasies of romance and flirtation along the way. In this regard, travel is more powerful and direct than QQ — not only visual, audible, and smellable, but also touchable. As long as you have the means, you can mooch your way to whatever you want.
Everyone has their own life philosophy, their own way of finding happiness, and their own means of seeking joy. But if a traveler’s activities lack a unifying spirit, then what’s the difference between that and entertainment, outings, picnics, or tour groups? How are newcomers guided during these activities? What is there that can be passed down continuously? And what place is left for nature?
We’re all snakes about the thickness of a bowl’s rim — there’s no need for me to add feet. The original intention of clubs was purely to enjoy collective solitude. But when sacred snow mountains are topped with the pointed hats of court jesters, when ideals and passion become post-dinner desserts, when slogans are printed on T-shirts, the spirit of the outdoors becomes obscured, framed, concealed, exploited, violated, and castrated. Collective solitude then turns into the blind movement of the emperor’s new clothes — everything is indulged and condoned. We must recognize the dirtiness of this circle and admit that it has rapidly distanced itself from nature and become alienated.
The outdoors is just a means; freedom is the goal. Freedom is about surpassing oneself and carving out greater space, freedom is the negation of the self’s negation. Freedom without responsibility is chaos. Freedom is a duty, prior to rights. To gain freedom, one must first learn to stop and refuse. Like the game of Go under Xuzhu’s guidance, when you give up corruption, you’ll find the whole world suddenly opens up. Nature is absolutely real and will always be real — you must face it with the most sincere heart.
Pseudo-outdoor activities can no longer be encompassed by the Seven Deadly Sins. I’m a selfish person — out of sight, out of mind, “not my problem, not my concern.” But when I see my friends gradually changing, it becomes necessary to speak up. People always wait for one word — “forced.” Before that word, people will never take the initiative or act. But after that word, unless something unexpected happens — the fish will surely die, but the net may not necessarily break. As Nietzsche said, “Even the gods lose when battling boredom.” I wanted to charge in and fight head-on, but ended up just getting clubbed on the back; I wanted to aim and shoot precisely, but it turned into a blanket artillery strike. “We are of the same root, why are we in such haste to hurt each other?”
If you still insist that nothing matters, then let’s all play with fire and burn together.