Sunken Fish - Chapter 25
At least I don't want to return to this world as a water buffalo that makes mud bricks.
The road gradually wound its way into the mountains, and Jumarin and Berhali admired the surrounding scenery, taking the opportunity to lean closer and whisper. "Those must be aspen trees..." "Look, eucalyptus trees." "What are those?"
Perhaps he sat behind them and said in a bored tone, "It's a willow tree."
"Are you sure?" Berhali said. "It doesn't seem like it."
Not all willow trees have drooping branches.
Could it be true? These willows are a fast-growing, short variety that can be pruned frequently, or some branches can be cut off for firewood. Further up are long-needle pines, and along the path, Naxi women are collecting pine needles.
"What do they do with the pine needles?" Zhu Malin asked Miss Rong.
Miss Rong said it was for the animals. So everyone assumed it was for the animals to eat pine needles. But that's not the case. In winter, animals sleep in nests filled with pine needles for warmth, and in spring, the Naxi people use the sour pine needles as fertilizer for their crops.
"Where have all the men gone?" Wendy wondered. "Why aren't they carrying pine needles?"
“Yes, they’re too lazy,” Miss Rong said with a smile. “They’re playing or writing poetry.”
Let me explain. There's a saying in China: "Women hold up half the sky." But here, women hold up the entire sky. This is a matriarchal society; women work, manage finances, own houses, and raise children. Men, on the other hand, are homeless. They're bachelors, boyfriends, or uncles, sleeping in one bed tonight, another tomorrow night, not even knowing whose children they're fathers. In the morning, they drive the livestock out to graze, returning only at dusk. They roll cigarettes in the mountain pastures, calling the animals with love songs. They sing at the highest pitch, making better use of oxygen than these Americans. So, Miss Rong was partially right: the men compose poetry. The songs in the mountains are like ancient poems.
Finally, the car stopped at the temple entrance, and my friends jumped out to take pictures. They gathered behind a sign that read: "A warm welcome to the famous Womb Cave."
Berhali put his arm around Jumaline's waist, and the others took their positions according to their height, with Mrs. Masai holding a camera. Miss Rong went to buy tickets, and the old man at the toll booth told her in the local language, "Hey, be careful today. It might rain heavily at any time, so don't go near the steep peak. Oh, and—please note, foreign tourists should not enter the main cave between 2:30 and 3:30, because a CCTV film crew is shooting a documentary there."
Miss Rong didn't want the old man to know she didn't understand the local language, nor did she want the tourists she was leading to know, so she quickly nodded to indicate that she understood. She assumed the old man was simply reminding her to take the tourists to government-licensed souvenir shops. She always accepted such instructions before; it was her most important responsibility.
Before the official tour, several people went to the restrooms, which were two separate concrete booths for men and women, each with a small trough and a continuous flow of water for washing. Heidi put on a mask, turned on the air freshener, and took out various antibacterial products from her bag before going in. The others squatted there, covering their faces with their sleeves. In the men's restroom, perhaps a water jet was spraying out, enough to wash away the sticky chewing gum. Beryl stood at the other end, concentrating intently, contracting his muscles—latissimus dorsi, pectoral muscles, abdominal muscles, gluteal muscles—only a trickle of water came out.
Oh, I must emphasize that I don't have a habit of spying on other people's privacy. But now I have amazing abilities—I can see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears, and even enter other people's minds. I'm telling you all this to help you understand what's going on and why. Many great figures in history failed because of some physical problem. Wasn't Napoleon defeated at Waterloo because he couldn't ride a horse due to hemorrhoids?
Everyone was eager to enter the Stone Bell Mountain Canyon. Due to jet lag and motion sickness, they had difficulty getting their bearings, and Miss Rong had even forgotten the English words for east, west, south, and north. She could only say, "Follow the sun's shadow down to the temple cave, then follow the sunlight up, and return to the bus."
This statement depends on the time frame; the sun isn't always in the sky. She's completely assuming that the direction of sunlight remains constant, even if the sun is obscured by a dark storm like a raging sea.
If anyone's planning a trip to Lijiang, I highly recommend going in winter. It's the perfect time to visit—the air is dry, and even late December is pleasantly warm. While it can get a bit chilly at night, a light sweater or pullover will suffice, unless you're as delicate as Heidi, layering on and on—waterproof underwear, cashmere leg warmers, a mosquito-repellent shirt with SPF 30, a hooded, brimless hat, and a two-ounce space blanket—like a futuristic warrior. I'm not mocking Heidi, because she was the only one fully prepared for the bloodthirsty mosquitoes. American blood is a particular magnet for them, and with the rains coming, the mosquito commando team is about to strike.
It's raining.
At first, it was a light drizzle, like a few tears falling from the sky. My friends were finally free to do as they pleased. The Masseys and Heidi went ahead; Wyatt and Wendy flirted along the path; Jumarin and her daughter Esme accepted Berhali's invitation to search for wildlife and the legendary pine tree; Benny and Vera strolled down, discussing the architecture of the New Asian Art Museum; Murphy and Rupert ran off, the son quickly overtaking his father and reaching the corner ahead. There was a cave in the steep rock, and Rupert jumped over the surrounding rubble, crossed the rope fence, and began to climb.
The Curse of Stone Bell Mountain (3)
There's a sign in Chinese below that reads "No Entry! Danger!"
The rain intensified, the wind and rain howling strangely as they poured into the crevices of the canyon rocks. This was the Chinese version of the harp of Iorius, the wind god. The sound might suggest the mountain's name, but it actually comes from the bell-shaped rock at its summit. The sound truly did resemble a bell, loud enough to drown out shouts.
“Rupert!” Murphy shouted, but there was no answer.